


A Place for the End

by Onceyourempire



Series: Reverse AU [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Frotting, It changed nsfw is from ch 2 onwards, M/M, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire
Summary: {Reverse AU -- Blackwatch Era McCree and Game Era McCree are switched in time}
"I'll fix it. McCree, I'll do right by you."
"I almost believe you."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the mcreyes discord and specifically dirtyhands and utuki for encouraging the continuation of this AU! I got much more response than I anticipated and it was really lovely. Thank you! I do plan to make this fic multiple chapters. 
> 
> I spent a lot of time listening to Cleopatra and Ophelia by the Lumineers while writing this. The title, specifically, is from Cleopatra.

McCree won't look him in the eye. Gabe gestures for him to sit, and he does. 

"McCree." He gives him a chance to remember his manners. McCree still doesn't look at him. Gabe takes a deep breath. "McCree, look at me. We need to have a conversation. I'm not chatting with your ear."

That gets a snort out of McCree, which is something. McCree turns his head and faces forward. His eyes aren't meeting Gabe's, but it's good enough. He'd been so full of bluster and bustle just a couple of days ago. Now he's acting like he's Gabe's subordinate again, like he's 18 and just got caught trying to sneak off base. Gabe hates it. He knows McCree is better than this. He hasn't even done anything wrong. 

Gabe shifts in his chair and feels an ache in his shoulders as muscle shifts and pulls at bruises. Not a damn thing wrong.

"I'm worried, McCree." Gabe starts, trying to be careful. He's not known for delicacy, but McCree needs a light touch right about now. He'll do his best. "Clearly you know something about our future, and it's tearing you up. I've noticed how you act around Jack." Gabe tries to not growl around the word, but it's tense between them right now and the mention of his name sets Gabe in edge. Clearly, based on McCree's eyes suddenly focusing on Gabe, he's not alone in his Morrison problems. 

"Don't reckon I act much different around you, Commander." McCree replies crisply. "Don't reckon it's really your problem."

"You're hiding things from me." Gabe says tersely.

"Winston said --"

"You said you don't remember this happening anyway. We don't know if this is even your timeline. None of us know anything, McCree, not even Winston." Gabe takes a deep breath. "Tell me this isn't bad. Tell me this isn't going to affect me and my team, and I'll drop it." 

McCree says nothing. He takes his hat off and rubs one eye with the heel of his hand.

"If you're hiding things that you know will hurt us, McCree, I need you to tell me." Gabe leans forward and laces his fingers together. "Jack doesn't care about us anymore. No one does. Just you and me."

"I can't." McCree says, and stands up. "Boss, I can't."

"Jesse." Gabe says, and McCree snorts. He turns away and looks down with his hands on his hips. 

"Don't try and manipulate me, sir. Don't you dare. Don't you --" he takes a shaky breath, "Fuck off with that shit. I know all your tricks."

Gabe barely resists the urge to slam his fist on the desk. He looks at McCree's tense back. He knows, that when McCree thinks he can't see, he stares at Gabe. McCree looks at him, heart-achingly sad, then turns away like he can't stand it. Gabe hates being left in the dark, but he can only blame himself. He's the one who taught McCree how to hide.

He stands and comes around the desk. McCree gets tenser, but otherwise doesn't move. Gabe carefully puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He says. It's the only time he's ever said it to McCree or Jesse, he realizes, though he probably has a lot to apologize for. McCree turns into his arm and pulls him into a hug, hiding his face in Gabe's shoulder. Gabe hesitates. He wraps his arms around McCree, fingers cautiously combing through the fine hairs on the back of McCree's neck.

"I'm going to make a mistake." McCree says, low and weak. "We're both going to make a mistake. Don't lose your temper. Keep them safe." He sniffs. "Don't be mad at me."

"I make no promises if you really fuck up." Gabe jokes quietly, but McCree's words shake him up. 

"I --" McCree starts, then curls further into Gabe's chest. "-- I was scared. I don't remember why."

"You couldn't come to me?"

"No."

Gabe frowns, turns his head away so McCree can't see it. The more McCree talks about it, the more Gabe is convinced that he's the source of whatever happens to Blackwatch. He's spent years converting his bitterness and anger at his bad hand into stubbornness, used that to make something useful. Blackwatch is dirty, and cruel, and the world needs it. He's poured all he has into Blackwatch, and the idea that he'll tear it all down is unnerving. That he'll do something bad enough to scare his most loyal agent into disaster is worse.

"I'll fix it." He says, which doesn't sound quite right. He can do better. "McCree, I'll do right by you."

McCree smiles. Jesse McCree has been in love with him since he was 19. Jesse McCree grew up and grew older and never stopped loving him. Jesse McCree has forgiven him for things he has yet to do. In the face of such a truth, Gabe has nothing else to say.

The smile is still there when McCree kisses Gabe on the mouth, but it's gone when he pulls away. "I almost believe you." He says, and sways in to kiss Gabe again. 

+++

Jesse wakes up sweaty. It's dry and hot in this room, and the hot midday sun spills through a broken window to sprawl across his body. This is not his room. This is not Spain. Panic rises quickly, and Jesse fights to stomp it down. He closes his eyes again, and practices deep breathing.

You're awake, your hands and legs aren't tied up, and you have your gun. Remember, McCree, if you have those three things you now have the advantage over anything that could come your way.

Jesse throws a ratty blanket off and climbs to his feet. He sees his hat hanging off a chair to a side wall, and a serape draped next to it. A satchel sits on the ground next to it. He walks over cautiously, careful of broken glass. There's no shoes in sight, which means that his first order of business besides inspecting the room is finding something to wrap his feet in. He digs through the bag and finds an button down shirt and jeans as well as extra bullets for a revolver, a tablet, a wallet, and a water bottle. All good things, considering he'd gone to bed the night before in just sweatpants. He’s glad his Deadlock paranoia had been encouraged in Blackwatch, meaning he had fallen asleep with one hand on Peacekeeper.

The clothes are a size too big, but that's acceptable. No belt, so he rolls the waist of the jeans down. The hat is much more worn than his was, but his name is still inscribed on the inside brim. The serape is unfamiliar, but should protect him from the sun. If he can't find shoes, he might be able to fashion a solution out of it as well. All in all, he's pulling good odds in the "surviving a terrifying mystery situation" category.

The tablet's locked with a pass code and a finger scan. His finger passes the scan, which is alarming considering his normal tablet is larger and heavier than this one. He tries a few pass codes from dates that could be easily gleaned from his record -- birthday, father's birthday, the day he joined Blackwatch. None of them work. He stares down at the tablet, and tries something else. It unlocks. 

The calendar says it's exactly 16 years in the future, and Jesse locks the tablet again. It's probably not wrong, but trying to comprehend this reality is intense and uncomfortable, so he ignores it. He puts the tablet away in the satchel and goes downstairs. The kitchen and bathroom are long defunct, and there’s nothing of use there besides a chipped knife. A glance out a window shows scrub brush and a dusty road following along one of the tall red cliffs he grew up around. Is he in Deadlock Gorge? He must be nearby, at least, and that’s both a comfort and a concern. He had hoped to never return of his own volition. Jesse takes the knife and heads upstairs. As beautiful as the serape is, it’s going to be much more use to him in strips.

Feet bound as well as he can, and hat planted on head, Jesse picks up the bag. He should check the wallet, but he has a feeling he knows who it belongs to. Once he gets closer to town, he can see what his money situation is like. He heads west, deeper into the gorge, towards the sun. The back of his neck prickles every so often, like someone’s watching him, but every time he looks there’s no one there. He keeps one hand near Peacekeeper anyway.

No one in the nearest town seems too concerned about 20 somethings who roll into town looking like hell, and he has just enough cash to get a cheap pair of slip ons. It won’t last him forever, but it’ll do for now. He’s just glad he had anything. He could have stolen something, but he doesn’t do that anymore. He doesn’t _want_ to do that anymore. Food’s going to be more difficult now, but he remembers shooting at jack rabbits as a kid and learning to skin them. He’s a much better shot now, calmer, his hands turned steady with time and practice. He has the bizarre thought about if jack rabbits are different in the future, and laughs at himself. He feels more comfortable now, even if Deadlock Gorge is one of the last places he’d ever want to be. It’s familiar territory, which brings his chances of living up even higher. If he can get somewhere with reliable internet, he may be able to contact Overwatch, and get lifted out of here. All in all, Jesse is doing a great job and he allows himself to relax.

Don’t get comfortable until you’re on the transport heading back. It doesn’t matter where you are, who you’re with, or what your objective is. Anything can and _will_ happen. You’re too cocky, McCree. It’s going to get you killed. I won’t always be around to help your sorry ass.

The shadow drops on him as the sun begins to set and Jesse is cleaning two hares. He’s struggling with his shitty knife when a boot plants on the back of his neck and almost makes him stab himself. His adrenaline kicks up and he tries to stab back while reaching for his gun. He’s not thinking clearly, and it makes his moves shaky and uncoordinated. The boot stomps his hand into the dirt and the owner has Peacekeeper off him before he can draw blood. Jesse’s heart is pounding. Stupid stupid stupid. He knows better, he was trained to know better, and Commander Reyes was right. No one is around, and he’s going to get killed. He cranes his neck to try and see his attacker, but all he can see from the corner of his eye is a mask like a gaunt owl and a whole lotta black. 

“McCree.” the shadow says, an inhuman rasp grating out of the mask. “Do you know where you are?”

Jesse doesn’t respond. He grimaces instead, trying to free his hand. The shadow laughs, and it sends shivers down his back.

“You can do better than that, can’t you? Here.” The shadow lifts the boot off his hand. “I’ll even help.”

Jesse’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling and turning his back to the empty house he’d found to face the ghoul. He flicks through his options. No gun, no weapon. Right hand isn’t out of commission, but he shouldn’t be hitting with it in case that stomp fractured any bones. His luck has swung right down into bad and all he’s got at his disposal is his loud mouth.

“I can almost guarantee I ain’t the McCree you’re lookin’ for, bud.” He says, backing up slowly. “We both know you’ve got me in a mighty tight spot, so let’s not dance around. What are you wantin’?” His back hits the wall of the house. At least he won’t get attacked from behind now, just in case his friend here has friends of his own.

The thing facing him snorts. “Your accent gets worse when you're nervous.” It says. Jesse bristles. “I was looking for a bounty to collect. You, however, aren’t going to be worth a damn thing.” It flows closer, and Jesse notices the edges of it’s coat are sparking off like edges of a flame. He swallows hard. “I know where the other one is. I know I can’t get to him. But he has to come back, and when he does --” It snaps a hand out and grips Jesse’s shirt hard enough to rip it “-- I’ll already have him.” 

Jesse has barely enough time to see a shotgun he’s seen a thousand times before materialize in the thing’s hand before the butt slams into his head.

Trust me, McCree. It might take time, but if you get compromised, we’ll come for you. Keep your head down and keep it clear. I don’t leave the living behind. You understand? If you stay alive, I will come for you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally dont know how long this au is going to be anymore and im terrified.
> 
> Also i guess this has porn now so i have to change the rating

+++

 

Jesse wakes up and it’s cold and dark. Bright side, he’s on a mattress that’s not on the floor this time. Downside, he doesn’t have his gun. His hands aren’t cuffed, which is also great, but that means his captor doesn’t think he’s enough of a threat to cuff him. He’ll need time to decide if that’s good or unnerving. They also took his shoes, which is just plain annoying. Waking up with no shoes in sight better not become a trend. He gets out of the bed. There’s light leaking in from under what’s probably a door jam, but otherwise it’s pitch black. He decides to check the door last -- it’s gotta be locked, and it’s worth his time to get a lay of the room first.

Carefully, he walks towards the light until his outstretched hands touch a wall. From there he follows it around, fingers searching for any anomalies. The ceiling is out of his reach, which is a relief. He’s not necessarily claustrophobic, but room small enough to have that a low ceiling is bad news if he’s stuck here long term. Solitary is always bad -- solitary in a tiny space is horrifying. No panels or grating  as far as he can tell, no shelves or crannies. He does take a sink to his stomach while walking, which is fun. When he’s done groaning in pain, he carefully walks around it to find a toilet. Small favors, he supposes. The room is pretty small, about the size of his quarters at Blackwatch HQ, and that makes his stomach sink. He also can’t hear much from the outside world. He hopes that just means this room is out of the way and not that it’s soundproofed. More than a couple of days in here and he’d be in serious trouble.

He makes his way back to the door and tries to open it. No luck, but he’d figured as much. He gets on his belly and squints, trying to see through the crack at the bottom. The door opens directly into his nose and he yelps. He scrambles away and to his feet, hand over his nose, and tries to put his back to a wall. The person in the doorway is cast in shadow due to the bright lights behind them. It doesn’t help that Jesse’s eyes had just adjusted to the dark and he’s squinting to ease the pain from the change.

“You gonna behave?” The figure asks. Jesse almost snarls and spits, but he closes his eyes and remembers his training.

 

Don’t fight back, but don’t tell them anything, either. You’re worth keeping alive if they think you know something, and better off dead when you’re a hassle. Tread the line, McCree. Hold your fucking tongue.

 

Jesse nods. The figure strides in and grabs him by the arm. “You’re thinner than you look.” They comment, and drag Jesse into the light. Jesse’s a few years out of Deadlock, but he’s got a lifetime of too much work on not enough food to make up for. It doesn’t help that Blackwatch works him hard enough that putting on additional weight on is difficult. He’s still scrappy around the edges, not yet molded into a perfect soldier, but that’s good. If they think he’s weak and flimsy, they’re in for a wild ride.

He wipes blood off his face as they walk, and isn’t this familiar? Hand smarting, nose bleeding, weapon gone and unsure of where he is -- a lot like the day he was recruited. He doubts there’s a man with a good deal in the interrogation room this time. The guard hauling him along is decked in full gear, complete with a face-covering helmet and multiple guns. Jesse looks down and sees a knife in their boot too. Good to remember. If all the guards have similar gear, he might have the beginnings of an escape plan.

He wants to believe Commander Reyes will somehow come for him, but he knows it’s impossible. Maybe someone will come looking for the older him, but none of them know that he’s here instead. He has no guarantee that anyone even knows where the other Jesse was. Commander Reyes might not even be alive anymore, and doesn’t that just strike a chord in him? Jesse can’t really imagine a future where he’s not following Reyes, but there’d been no sign of him when Jesse woke up that first time. Maybe the older Jesse was on a mission, but to bet on that is stupid. No, there's no backup for him this time. He has to assume he’s on his own.

The guard opens another door and shoves Jesse inside. “Don’t start until the Captain is here.” They say, and slam the door closed. Jesse looks around. Table, two chairs, one way mirror set in one wall. Yeah, he’s been in a lot of rooms like this one.

In the opposite corner, something shifts. Leather creaks. Jesse’s head snaps to look and the thing that he ran into in the desert is leaning casually against the corner of the room. It can see the whole room from there, Jesse thinks, and he’s a little mad he can’t sit there instead.

“Howdy.” Jesse says, dripping a heavier accent than usual into his words. His pride is still smarting from having his anxiety drawl pointed out to him. Maybe the shadow thinks it’s annoying.

The creature in the corner snorts, but otherwise doesn’t react or respond. Jesse slowly walks forward. He thinks about picking the chair with its back to the one way just to be a dick, but the thought of having his back to whoever is on the other side gives him the chills. He tries to move the other one instead, but it’s bolted to the ground. Fair enough. He decides to lean against the wall instead. He won’t have whatever that is behind him if he can avoid it.

“You got a name?” He asks, mirroring the other’s casual posture.

The shadow laughs. Jesse pushes down his temper. Doesn’t matter who laughs at him as long as he gets information. Any scrap he can get his hands on could be handy.

“Reaper.” It says, and Jesse almost laughs at it in return. Talk about melodramatic.

“Seems like you already know who I am.” Jesse rotates his wrist, still sore from the stomping it got. “This don’t seem like a merc’s hideout though. Seems like you lied to me about the bounty you’re waitin’ on.”

Reaper cocks his head at him but doesn’t say anything. The door opens before Jesse can probe further.

“Are you done scaring him, Reyes?” The guard who walks in asks. Jesse feels a wash of cold go over his entire body and he stares at Reaper. Reaper growls. “Don’t be like that.” The guard, presumably the aforementioned Captain, waves a hand at Reaper dismissively. “If you didn’t want me to tell him, you shouldn’t have demanded to be here.”

“Boss?” Jesse asks, before he can help himself. Reaper snorts a laugh and shakes his head.

“Sit down, McCree.” Reaper says.

Jesse walks to the chair and sinks into it. He gets tingles up his spine, knowing what’s behind him. He hears boots thump on the floor as Reaper (Reyes?) begins to pace.

The Captain -- tall, masculine, and in a tougher version of the gear the guard was wearing -- sits across from him. They take off their helmet and smile, all teeth and narrowed eyes.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, McCree. I’m glad we have a chance to talk.”

Jesse closes his eyes and listens to the repetition of Reaper’s footsteps. He couldn’t beat Commander Reyes in a fight in his own timeline. He certainly won’t be able to beat him now. He isn’t sure he wants to. Whoever Reyes became, Jesse hates the idea of running from him. He _hates_ it, the mere thought tightening his throat and stomach. He hopes there’s something of his commander still behind the mask, something for him to get to. Something to salvage.

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He drawls, opening his eyes and sliding down in the chair. The person before him leans in, and Jesse instinctively leans back.

“I have a deal for you.” They say. Jesse’s eyes flick over to Reaper, who’s come around the table to stand behind the Captain.

“I’m listening.”

 

+++

 

McCree is crowding into Gabe’s space, all eager hands and hot breath, and Gabe doesn’t even consider turning him away. They haven’t had a proper conversation in days, because every second they have alone turns into making out in dark corners. Gabe is absolutely certain McCree is doing it on purpose because he doesn’t want Gabe to keep asking questions, but that’s fine by him. He’ll get his answers eventually, and the time he gets to have McCree is short. He’ll greedily snatch up as much as he can.

“Get off, Jesse.” Gabe huffs a laugh, pushing at McCree’s shoulders. He has intentions to actually get McCree to a bed this time, but McCree’s particular brand of eager is making it difficult to even get to the office door.

“I’m tryin’ to, Gabe.” McCree says, burying a broad grin in Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe snorts loudly at the innuendo. “If you want me to stop, you just say the word.” McCree moves away enough to meet Gabe’s eyes. “You know that, right?”

Gabe tugs on his hair, and McCree’s grunt of surprise turns into a soft groan. “I do.” Gabe says. McCree is so careful around him sometimes, like he’s afraid he’ll make one wrong move and Gabe will slip through his fingertips. He appreciates it, is relieved to know McCree grew up conscientious, but he’s also not the saint McCree cheerfully paints him as. “I was thinking we could take this to my room.” Gabe adds, and McCree looks a little stunned.

“Yeah. Okay.” McCree presses one fast kiss to the corner of Gabe’s jaw and stands back to let him through. “Let’s get outta here then.”

They stand a good two feet apart as they walk down the hall, boots clicking in almost-unison. Gabe has slightly longer legs and McCree seems to still be adjusting to his pace. Arazi waggles her eyebrows at Gabe as they pass and Gabe grimaces. Arazi definitely knows, and if she knows then Porter knows. Gabe trusts the two of them with his life, knows they won’t judge him, but the thought of anyone knowing about what he and McCree have is --

They arrive at his door. Gabe types in the passcode and scans his hand. McCree slips past him to open the door and Gabe is not far behind. He closes the door and reaches for the light but McCree is on him before he can get to it.

“Let me turn on the damn light, McCree.” Gabe turns his face away from McCree’s eager mouth. McCree grabs his reaching hand and holds it. “What, are you shy all the sudden?”

“The lights in the rooms are too bright. They kill the mood.” McCree says, like he has some kind of previous experience with this. Maybe he does. Gabe had always thought Jesse and Porter were oddly close.

“Fine.” Gabe pulls his hand out of McCree’s. He intends to drag McCree to the bed by his collar and push him down, but now that they’re here McCree seems happy to push Gabe against the door and rut against him. It feels good, the layers of clothing between their cocks adding pressure and friction, and Gabe relents. He, for once, has nowhere to be. They have time and privacy and McCree is hot and heavy against him.

He spreads and plants his legs, which is all the invitation McCree needs to lay more of his weight into Gabe’s chest and grind. He keeps it slow, runs his hands across Gabe’s thighs to hook thumbs in his back pockets for extra leverage. Gabe does end up grabbing him by the collar, but only so he can bring McCree’s face closer to kiss him. McCree moans, opens his mouth, lets Gabe nip messily at his lips. It’s getting to be too hot for them to be fully clothed, but Gabe sure as hell isn’t letting McCree get away for long enough to undress.

He has more access to McCree’s bare skin than McCree does to his and he takes advantage of it, untucking McCree’s shirt just enough to scrape short nails along his waist. McCree has chub there now, such a far cry from the lanky thing Jesse is, and Gabe loves it. There’s clearly still hard muscle under it, McCree’s no pushover, but there’s enough fat for Gabe to pinch. McCree laughs, startled, and his hips jerk harder against Gabe’s. His head feels a little fuzzy, there’s little shivers running across his skin, and Gabe tucks his face under the edge of McCree’s jaw. He wishes he could let himself get used to this.

McCree’s full on grabbing his ass now, pushing his dick against Gabe’s in long hard movements. Fuck it’s good, better than it has any right to be, and Gabe comes first, knocking his head back against the door as he keeps canting his hips forward. McCree groans at the sight of him, pressing every inch of himself as close to Gabe as he can.

“Come on.” Gabe grabs McCree’s hips. “Come on, Jesse.” His voice drops on McCree’s name, going rough around the syllables, and that’s enough. Gabe feels his body go tight as he gasps, fingers digging in hard enough to be painful. McCree says his name, awestruck and humble. Gabe kisses him, soft little things as they settle and wrap around each other.

“We’re too old to come in our pants.” Gabe huffs against McCree’s mouth, and McCree chuckles. His thumb presses into the unlocking mechanism for Gabe’s chest plate, and it snaps open.

“Bed?” McCree asks, pulling at the armor, and Gabe slaps his hands away to lift it over his head.

“Bed.”

They peel out of sweaty and stained clothes and leave them on the floor. Gabe’s sure they’ll end up in the laundry eventually. The bed is a little small for two men of their size, but McCree lays on him and wraps an ankle around Gabe’s, so it works. Gabe works his fingers through McCree’s hair, tangled and thick, and closes his eyes. If McCree clings to him a little harder than necessary, Gabe doesn’t comment on it.

He doesn’t want McCree to go. His fingers twitch in McCree’s hair. He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to be alone again. McCree pulls Gabe down to kiss him, like he knows.

“We got all the time in the world, boss.” He says, nails scraping through the short hairs on the nape of Gabe’s neck.

Sure. All the time in the world.

 

+++


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup gamers welcome to sad-ass fanfic where its only getting worse from here

+++

 

Jesse thinks he’s breathing, but the heavy glove on the back of his neck is making it difficult to tell. There’s chills down his spine. Once upon a time, a few days ago, that hand would have been such a reassurance. Now, there’s a threat behind it and the gentle pressure of claws on his neck.

“The thing you do, your impossible aim, you can do it now, right?” The Captain runs a thumb along the edge of their mug. “I’ve seen the tapes of the -- God, this time thing. The current you? The older you. He does this thing --”

“He can.” Reaper says, and the glove tightens just a smidge. “I told you.”

“I’m asking him, though. Maybe he can’t do it yet.” The Captain throws their hands up. Jesse feels like he’s kind of trapped in an old spy movie -- but as campy as the Captain is, they don’t feel goofy. It’s kind of threatening, the casually jovial behavior with a mug to one side and a knife on the other. The Captain’s hand comes down gently on the knife, and the smile they give Jesse has too much teeth to be genuine. “So, Jesse. Can you?”

“Yeah.” Jesse croaks. Reaper’s hand loosens. He hates to pull that trick -- it gives him migraines and his left eye goes blurry sometimes. He’s afraid that he’ll lose his vision someday, and Commander Reyes had understood that. Reaper doesn’t say a word about it.

“Fantastic. Well, knowing that, I can officially offer the deal we discussed.” The Captain leans in. “Because I’ll be honest, without that you’re a bit of a bad bet. Loyalty will only get you so far.” Jesse sees the Captain’s eyes flick up to Reaper behind him. Reaper couldn’t have missed that, but he doesn’t move. The hand stays loose but firm. He’s used to it, Jesse guesses.

The deal. He stays, he lives, he works. He sticks around until the switch happens, and in return they don’t kill him. Maybe he learns some things. He’ll be stuck with Reaper and his small team the whole time.

It’s bad, but it’s better than being back in his cell. Jesse has always done poorly in isolation.

“I’ll take it.” Jesse says. Reaper removes his hand entirely, and Jesse clenches his fists under the table. “Nothin’ better to do.” He adds, because he can’t hold his fucking tongue after all. The Captain laughs.

“Welcome aboard, Deadeye.”

Jesse doesn’t want the name to stick, but it does. It becomes his handle, and within a week that all anyone knows him by.

Widowmaker stumbles over it the first few times, almost calling him something else before pursing her lips and trying again. Jesse swears he knows her from somewhere, but he doesn’t press the issue. Sombra says it with a laugh every time, a hand on his shoulder and a finger flicking the brim of his hat.

Reaper never calls him Deadeye. Reaper doesn’t say much of anything to him for a long time.

“He’s not normally this pent up.” Sombra comments, and Jesse looks up from the tablet in his hands. Sombra looks like she’s texting, but she types way slower than normal. She sneaks Jesse a look. “He’s tense like this on missions, but not all the time.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Jesse squints at the screen in front of him. He’s watching video of himself in training to try and see what he needs to work on. Considering Reaper crushes him every time, he’s thinking probably everything.

“I’m saying it’ll get better. Don’t sulk.”

Jesse makes a face at her, and she coos at him in response.

The comfortable silence settles between them again, and Sombra’s thumbs get significantly faster. Jesse switches to a video of him at the shooting range. They’ve been running him on his shooting trick, trying to refine it, but everyone’s having trouble figuring out what makes him better or worse. Jesse just gets a feeling about when he’ll hit a lot of targets or not, which isn’t really helpful. He flips through a few clips. He hits them dead on, every single time. Clean holes through the foreheads of the each target dummy. It gives him a headache just to look at.

He’s putting the tablet down to ask Sombra a question when he hears the thump of Reaper’s boots.

“Gabe!” Sombra calls out. “Gabriel, you’re late.”

Reaper flows into the room and reforms. It gives Jesse chills. He hates it, God, he hates it so damn much.

“Captain needed to see me.” Reaper says, and begins pulling off his gloves. “We’re leaving tomorrow.” He barely looks at Jesse when he speaks again. “All four of us.”

Jesse brings a thumb to his mouth and begins biting at the nail. This wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. He’d been clinging to the hope that maybe, somehow, he’d be able to work out an escape before they started sending him on missions. Once the missions start, they come fast and frequently. If he’s going to try something, it has to be tonight. Jesus.

“ _Capitán_  thinks he’s ready?” Sombra asks, tapping her fingers against the coffee table between her and Jesse.

“Apparently.” The coat comes off next, and Reaper throws it on the table. “We’ll see.” The mask is last and Jesse tries not to flinch.

He doesn’t know what happened to Reaper to make him like -- like this. There’s scars on his face that weren’t there before, but he looks like he’s barely aged. Jesse knows what year it is. This shouldn’t be possible, even with the SEP changes, but when Reaper turns to look at Jesse it’s with the face of a man in his early forties. It’s unnerving, a whole new level of uncanny, and Jesse looks away. He hears Reaper move heavily to the other side of the room. He’s moving slowly, way slower than normal. Jesse looks up in time to see him grip the doorframe to the next room.

“Look at you, _Abuelito_.” The teasing edge in Sombra’s voice is sounds forced. “You don’t look so good.”

“When do I look good?” Reaper replies, his laugh rough and weak. “Don’t bug me for a while.”

He vanishes from sight and Jesse is left shaken in his wake. If Reaper’s out of the picture for the night, Jesse has a better chance of escaping. The issue is he’s not sure if he wants to go. Seeing Reaper’s face -- Reyes’ face -- got to him pretty bad. No one calls Reaper by his old name around here except Sombra and sometimes the Captain. Jesse had kind of convinced himself that Reaper wasn’t really Reyes after all. Seeing what’s under the mask had really pulled that whole illusion apart.

Jesse puts his face in his hands. He just wants to go home. The closest thing he’s got in this timeline is whatever’s left of Reyes. He can’t do it. He’s fucked.

“Looks like our training is cancelled, Deadeye.” Sombra says, standing and collecting the bits of tech scattered around where she sat. “You better sleep. It’s going to be a long day for you.”

Jesse rubs his eyes. He can feel a migraine coming on. Maybe turning in early is a good idea after all.

+++

Gabe knows McCree is a good shot. He knows the chances of McCree hitting him are very low. If McCree aims a shot past his head one more time, Gabe is going to lose his shit.

“McCree!” He barks when a bullet whips by his ear. There’s crackling laughter in his earpiece.

“Sorry! Still not used to having people on my side.”

“That’s fucking sad, Jess.” Rodriguez chimes in. “Like, dude.”

“Cut the chatter.” Gabe snaps. He peeks out over his cover. The coast looks clear after McCree’s last shot. “Move up, everyone.”

McCree slides in next to him. He’s decked out in regulation gear, even relinquishing his hat for the face-covering helmet. The only thing that sets him apart is the gleaming revolver in his right hand.

“Saw a door to the left that’s not on the schematics.” McCree reports, instinctively reloading his gun. “Want me to check?”

“Backup?” Gabe asks, doing a quick count to see who’s near and who he could spare. They’re making a pretty steady push through the warehouse, so if McCree wants a couple of agents it should be alright.

“I got it.” McCree’s head tilts, and Gabe can tell he’s grinning underneath the shield.

“If you find anything--”

“I’ll stay on the comms. I’ll be smart.” McCree leans in and gently taps his helmet against Gabe’s. “I’ll let you know when I’m in.”

Gabe puts a gloved hand on the back of McCree’s helmet, allows himself a moment of fondness, then slaps his hand against the side. Gabe checks his shotguns while McCree laughs. He’s okay on shells for now, but he’ll need to be careful. Who knows what that room could be hiding? If McCree needs firepower, Gabe’s going to be his best bet.

It’s a long few minutes before word arrives from McCree. He counts down before breaching the entry, Gabe silently counting with him. He motions to the rest of the team to hold, just in case.

McCree swears, loud enough to blow out the comms, and Gabe makes for where he last saw McCree. There’s gunfire over the comms, quiet enough that it’s not McCree shooting. Gabe hears a long deep breath, and the muted footsteps of agents following him.

“McCree, we’re moving to your position.” He barks into his mic. McCree does not reply.

The next round is gunfire is the right volume to be McCree, but there’s 9 shots in a row, and all he has on him is his damn six-shooter. There’s no fucking way. Not unless he --

McCree appears in front of them. He’s hunched over, gun shaking in his tight fist.

“I think that was the rest of them for this dock.” McCree says when Gabe reaches him. “Might have to sit this next round out, Commander.”

Gabe doesn’t reply, just grabs McCree’s helmet and pulls. His left eye looks swollen and red, but it’s not bleeding. Gabe grits his teeth.

“We’ll talk about this later. You’re out for the rest of the mission.” McCree starts to argue, but Gabe’s already turning away. “Check the rest of the warehouse, make sure there’s no one else. Pull any manifests.” He points to five agents, who all nod and spread out. “You two cover this room. Find out why it wasn’t on the maps.”

“Commander --”

“You and I, McCree, are getting you to a safe location where you can sit this out until we’re done.”

“Gabe!” McCree hisses, grabbing Gabe’s jacket. “Why are you punishing me? I just need half an hour, tops, and I’ll be good.”

How stupid does he think Gabe is? Gabe knows what that weird talent does to McCree’s body. Jesse hated using it, had been downright afraid of it before he joined Blackwatch. Maybe McCree thinks Gabe hasn’t noticed the spare glasses McCree keeps on him, or how thick one lens is compared to the other. He must believe he’s been so sneaky getting consults with Angela instead of Doc for his migraines and insomnia. Gabe understands there’s a lot McCree can’t tell him. This is an entirely different beast.

“We’ll talk about this later, Agent.” Gabe says, voice low and even even through clenched teeth. McCree lets go of him.

The talk, once the mission is successful and the debrief done, is less of a productive discussion and more of a nasty argument.

“It’s just another tool I got, Gabe, it’s not a big deal!”

“I’ve seen what it does.” Gabe slaps a hand on his desk in frustration. “I saw what it did when you were young, and based on Doc and Angela’s reports it’s even harder on you now. You’re endangering yourself and us.”

“You got Angela’s reports?!” McCree pushes his hair out of his face. “Don’t that just beat all. How long you had them?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about right now, don’t you fucking --”

“You went behind my back and made Angela talk about my visits? I mean, I don’t know Gabe, that seems like kind of a big deal.”

“Okay, sure. Okay.” Gabe sits in his chair. “You want to make this about lying? Is that it? How about you lying to me about your health? How about lying to me about where you were going when you went to consult with her? How about lying about what this --” Gabe waves a hand, vague and angry.

“Deadeye.” McCree snaps.

“You named it?”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe. I thought that’s what it was always called.” Some of the anger drains from McCree’s face. “Is that not what we called it?”

“No, Jesse. We never gave it a name. Why would we name it? It’s been killing you for years!”

“And I’d have been dead without it, so that seems about right.”

Gabe wants to just scream and shove McCree out of his office. He pulls it back together, but barely.

“Why did you use it today? We were on our way, I told you we were on our way!”

“Because I’ve been alone, Gabe!” McCree snarls. “Just me, on my own, for a long damn time. I needed all help I could get. I didn’t really think about it.”

Gabe is about to spit back a reply when he realizes this is the first time McCree’s said anything concrete about his life before the switch. The atmosphere in the room shifts. Gabe finds that he’s suddenly very very tired.

“Can you try to do it less?” He asks, standing up. “Just try, please? For my sake if not yours.”

McCree looks surprised. “I -- yeah. Okay. I’ll be careful.”

Gabe comes around his desk to lean against it and waves at McCree to come closer. He does, warily, like he’s walking into a trap. Gabe shakes his head and cups McCree’s face in his hands. He knows McCree is touch-starved, but the way his shoulders relax instantly is almost alarming. McCree lets Gabe check his eye. It’s much less red, almost back to its normal shade. The swelling has given way to soft bruising. McCree closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says, moving in closer to wrap his arms around Gabe’s waist. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Gabe wants to laugh at that, because he’s pretty sure they were both shrieking like idiots, but this moment is turning into a scene from a full-blown relationship and he’s having trouble pretending that doesn’t scare him.

“You were alone?” He asks in response. He can come back to apologies later.

“Yeah.” McCree turns his face into Gabe’s hands. “It wasn’t so bad. I was doin’ pretty okay for myself.” His voice gets a little bit lost on Gabe’s palm. He sounds like he was actually alright with it, but who knows? They’re both very good at pretending.

“Okay.” Gabe lets the topic go. “I’m sorry.” He tacks on, hoping to skip a full apology session. They should probably talk about a whole bunch of things; the fight, the way their relationship is shifting, how Winston’s latest email to Gabe mentioned how far he is from helping McCree get back to his own time. Gabe’s got work to do though, and McCree needs to sleep. “Let’s go to bed.” He rubs a thumb under the brown bruises surrounding McCree’s eye.

McCree follows him, as he always does. He sleeps fitfully, tangled up in Gabe’s sheets, and Gabe watches him from his workspace with bleary eyes. He fucked this man up, he thinks, and he can only make it worse. It’s hard to remember that later, when he crawls into bed and McCree noticeably relaxes in his arms.

Gabe doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.

+++

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu on tumblr yall -- boyvandals (boovandals during october)


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